


oak leaves and roleplay streams

by RyDyKG



Series: what they don’t see [7]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dream Team SMP Setting (Video Blogging RPF), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon Universe, Confusion, Double Life, Dreams vs. Reality, Gen, Memories, Nicknames, Open to Interpretation, POV Second Person, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Weird Plot Shit, kind of, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:20:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29604450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyDyKG/pseuds/RyDyKG
Summary: You split your time between two different worlds, dreaming of a place born out of your own plans and acts, and when you wake up once again, you play with your character and pretend like it doesn’t hurt.It’s for the story, after all. Everyone loves a good tragedy with a happy ending.(You split your time between two different worlds, and somewhere along the ride of life, the line between fiction and reality starts to blur.Then again, is it really fiction at all?)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs & TommyInnit
Series: what they don’t see [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991806
Comments: 7
Kudos: 75





	oak leaves and roleplay streams

**Author's Note:**

> “KG why are you posting two separate stories in such a short amount of time?” listen I read three angsty fics in one go and decided ‘hey why not’. also, procrastination.
> 
> TW for a bunch of unreality. Like, it’s somewhat quite a lot of it, so be warned. Also, no real names were used in this. I made up a fake name. 
> 
> I don’t know how to tag this, honestly. Genuinely not sure what to tag this so like,,,, yknow,,,

You split your time between two different worlds, dreaming of a place born out of your own plans and acts, and when you wake up once again, you play with your character and pretend like it doesn’t hurt.

It’s for the story, after all. Everyone loves a good tragedy with a happy ending.

(You split your time between two different worlds, and somewhere along the ride of life, the line between fiction and reality starts to blur.

Then again, is it really fiction at all?)

You’re not quite sure when it starts to happen. You know that you started to remember around the days of the Pogtopia arc, when the election happened.

(You’re pretty sure that it’s been happening far earlier though. You have memories of waking up in a cold sweat, pressing a hand to your stomach because that arrow shot felt so _real_ -)

There is a difference between the world in your dreams and the world you have woven and sown together with your friends.

You’ve tried making a difference. You know how the story will go; you have poured over plans and acts and plotted a general storyline to follow. But these particular dreams have ties to reality, because no matter how much you try, it always acts out in the same way.

(In your streams, you pearl to Tubbo on stage in a futile attempt to save his character, and Wilbur forces you and Technoblade to fight it out in the pit to settle your differences.

In your dreams, you don’t pearl to Tubbo, but you are still thrown into the pit, with a warrior looming above you. Wilbur wants his entertainment, and Technoblade has left over energy and spirit to burn.)

Eventually, you decide to just let it play out. No matter how many times it hurts, no matter how you suffer, there’s no changing fate. Especially not when you’re the one who has planned everything out.

Subconsciously, you’ve started separating the characters from your friends.

Honestly, it’s better than your subconscious combining the two together. You don’t think you’ll be able to handle it, not being able to speak to your friends properly, all because of a roleplay that isn’t much of a roleplay to you at all.

There’s a big difference between Dream and ‘Nightmare’. There’s a difference between Wilbur and ‘Vilbur’. There’s a difference between Schlatt and ‘President’. There’s a difference between Technoblade and ‘Anarchy’.

It helps in your roleplay too. You fall into your role easily, and you separate yourself into yet another box; this time, it’s an act for your dreams.

(Anarchy tells the story of Theseus, and so Theseus looks at the Withers and charges forth.

You don’t want to be a hero, and neither does your character, but this is a dream and a roleplay and a story all the same, so in the end, does it really matter?)

“If you think you’re a hero,” you murmur to yourself quietly, twisting a pen around as you stare upon your wall of notes. The notes all have random scribbles on it, and your parents think it’s for your roleplay, but you know better. “Then die like one.”

The words taste like ash on your tongue, though you’ve never tasted ash before. You try again.

“If you think you’re a hero, _live_ like one.”

This time, the words taste… well, they don’t taste like anything, not like Anarchy’s words do. But they do bring a memory, one with feathers and songs and spars.

(You’re not sure if it’s a memory at all.)

You decide that you like those words, and you jot them down. Maybe you could use them for a lore stream at a later date.

“I want my character to kill Dream.”

A long pause. “Could you say that again, Tommy?”

You sigh, and lean back on your chair. The phantom sensation of a cloak resting over your shoulders shows itself again, and you resist the urge to get up and toss your blanket over your shoulders.

“I want my character to kill Dream,” you repeat. “It would make for a good climax. Like a victim getting back at their abuser or some shit.”

“That’s a good idea,” Wilbur says. “It would contradict the whole ‘forgiveness is a must’ thing too.”

“Exactly,” you agree. “My character won’t- he isn’t the type to forgive. He doesn’t _need_ to forgive. He’s not the hero.”

Techno chuckles. It’s a low and tired sound, but that’s to be expected, since you all have been pouring over this document for hours on end now. “Alright then. Everyone on board?”

Dream hums. “I’ll have to plan out the gaslighting that my character might try to do… but sure, why not?”

Excitement bubbles in you even as they move to another scene. You know the fans will absolutely love this conclusion, even if it isn’t necessarily a conclusion.

(Days later, you sink an axe into Nightmare, and you do it again. His pleading does not matter to you; he has caused too much harm. You know this, you’ve planned this, you’ve acted this.

You wonder if the satisfaction and happiness that comes with it makes you evil.)

“What makes you think this is real?”

You blink at Nightmare, in his jail cell. He looks pitiful, pathetic, but you know that it’s all an act. You’ve done this visit before, but this is new. This line is new.

There are new lines, sometimes. Usually, though, it’s because you’ve purposefully deviated from the canon you have created in the roleplay. This is something different entirely.

“What do you mean?” you ask. “Of course this is real. You can’t pull your manipulation shit in there now, N- Dream. I know better now.”

“I know,” strangely, Nightmare doesn’t even look bothered. There is something incredibly eerie about the way Nightmare is acting like _he’s_ the one in control. “I know you do. But really, is this real? Or is this fake?”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you spit, narrowing your eyes. “God, even in jail you’re so fucking annoying.”

“I don’t know, why don’t you go ask your parents?” Nightmare stares at him with a smile. “I’m sure Motherinnit and Fatherinnit are worried.”

Coldness claws at your skin. You take a step back, because this isn’t supposed to happen, he’s not supposed to say all of this, he’s not even supposed to _know_ , what is happening-

“Or are they a dream?” Nightmare continues, and you dig your fingernails into your arms. It all feels so _real_.

“Shut up,” you mutter, uncaring of who might be watching. “You’re a dream, this isn’t real.”

“Is it? There are some weird coping mechanisms out there, you know?”

In, out. You breathe. 

It feels so _real_.

“Sam?” you call out. “I want to head back now.”

You leave with the full weight of Nightmare’s stare boring into your back.

“Tommy?” Sam- no, his name is Nook, he’s not your friend Sam- says to you in worry when you’re out of Pandora’s Box. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” you respond, tugging his hand away. “I’m fine. Ni- Dream’s just being a bitch. That’s all.”

Your vision starts to go black. You panic, because oh god, you aren’t supposed to faint, and Nook is just standing there, motionless, like it’s all a dream, it’s all a play, because it is a roleplay, but this is a dream, and your dreams of this world aren’t like this-

Your eyes open. You wake up. The clock on your bedside reads ‘8:02 a.m’. Your ceiling and your walls are painted white. Your set-up is on your desk. Your bedsheets are comfortable. Your blanket is warm.

This is real. Isn’t it?

(Since when did reality and fantasy blur so much?)

You have never eaten wild berries before. You have never touched the clouds before. You have never held a sword in your life. You have never run through fields of flowers before. You don’t know what it’s like to fall out of the sky. You don’t know what it’s like to swing a pickaxe into an ore.

Still, your memories have. Your memories do.

It’s weird to call them memories, because they _aren’t_ memories. They’re just stupid scenes that appear in your head, giving you a sense of nostalgia and wistfulness that shouldn’t be there because _you’ve never done those things before_.

But it’s weird to call them dreams too, because they aren’t. You don’t fall asleep everytime you ‘remember’ something. They feel too realistic to be anything but memories.

‘Dreams are believed to represent unconscious desires, wish fulfillment, and personal conflicts,’ your Google searches tell you. You look at your wall of notes, and remember all those times when words or actions brought forth memories that both feel like your own and _don’t_.

You know you don’t wish for anything. You certainly don’t wish to have ultra-realistic dreams about the roleplay that you and your friends have started online. You don’t wish to live in Minecraft. You don’t wish to be able to fight mobs.

So why are you having these dreams? Why are you getting these memories? What is happening to you?

Who are you?

(Your name is Thomas Adler Bailey. You are seventeen, and you have a big internet presence. You play a character in a roleplay that you and your friends have started, a roleplay that is wildly popular, and you reap the benefits of your hard work. You have good and kind parents, and your friends are wonderful and nice. You research your topics carefully, and you make sure that what comes out of your mouth isn’t offensive in any way, because you want to educate just as you want to entertain.

Your name is TommyInnit. You are sixteen, and you are continuing to live in a world that seems to hate your existence. You barely have any friends, and most people you know want you dead. Everyone keeps misunderstanding you, everyone keeps blaming everything on you, and it’s getting tiring. You don’t have parents, and you have suffered far too much for your age. Nobody knows what you have truly been through, because they don’t bother to care. You are treated as a soldier and a hero, and you want it all to _stop_.

What is the line that separates the two? Is there even a line at all?)

“Tommy, can I speak to you?”

You turn around, spotting Karl Jacobs- or rather, Traveller- making his way towards you. It’s another deviation from canon that isn’t because of you. There’s been more and more of these lately.

(You still haven’t told anyone about your little problem yet. They don’t need to know, because it’s only _your_ problem anyways. 

You continue streaming. You continue roleplaying. You try to ignore how much it hurts when your dreams catch up to canonical shitty events. You play it off when people start to get worried. You pretend nothing is wrong when they ask.

They don’t need to know anything.)

“Yeah?” you ask, with a cocked head, and a diamond axe by your side. “What’s up?”

“I have a question for you,” he begins, and you gesture for him to continue. “How long?”

You frown. “How long what?”

“How long have you, you know, led these lives?” Traveller asks you, and you freeze.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you lie, because you _have_ to, why does Traveller know, _how_ does Traveller know, who else knows about your dreams? “Seriously.”

Traveller frowns, but his eyes glaze over, and he takes out a book and flips a page. He then rattles off an address, and things are going horribly wrong, because that sounds like an address real life, not a set of coordinates, and just _what_ is going on?

Your vision blacks out, and you shoot up in your bed, a scream on your tongue, and Traveller’s words repeating in your mind, again and again and again.

Your clock reads ‘4:04a.m’. You still drag yourself up and out of your bed to your computer, because you _cannot_ forget this.

Your searching leads you to finding a location, not that far away from your house at all. You should feel suspicious, but something is calling you to the place, beckoning you to it.

You have to go.

You tell your parents that you are heading out a few hours later, and you ride your bicycle until you reach your destination.

You remember seeing this place, sometimes, whenever you’re heading home from a place. Back then, you’ve never paid it much attention, because it’s just a field with a few holes in it, that’s all, but now…

Now, this is the location of the address that Traveller has rattled off to you. This is the place that shouldn’t have been known.

You park your bicycle at a nearby post, and you start walking. The tall grass brushes against your bare legs, and the Sun shines down on your head, but you still keep walking. You’re not sure where you’re walking towards; your feet are moving on their own, and maybe that should scare you a little, but you just want this whole mess to be over with.

You spot a tall rock ahead. It’s never been there before. You start to walk faster.

You eventually reach the rock. Peering upwards, your eyes land on etchings into the rock, and your heart skips a beat.

(A laughter rings out in the open air. It sounds familiar, and not in a good way.)

These are-

You recognise these words. You recognise the pictures. They’re from your roleplay.

Except, it’s not all that, because there’s others that you don’t recognise. Suddenly, the world around you is… not quite dissolving, but rather remaking itself. New walls pop up, new inscriptions pop up.

A sword lays on the ground, shining in a way that is so fantastical, except it’s not fantasy, because you’re pretty damn sure you’re awake. A shield lays in a corner, and a map takes up a whole wall. There are so many things forming and collapsing and your head is spinning and oh, you should’ve stayed home.

Eventually, it stops, and you breathe. You pinch yourself, and it hurts. Actually, so does your back. But your own comforts aren’t the important part right now, because this is something that shouldn’t exist at all, and you _know_ this, because you’ve passed by this very field so many times, and this has never happened at all.

(A memory comes to your head. Your father- no, that’s not your father, that’s _Phil_ \- lifts you up high, and blue runs through the words on the stone walls. You clap your hands in glee.

This process is important to you. You know that. Do you?)

 _This is your legacy_ , the breeze whispers to you, and you panic, because breezes can’t speak, you’re alone in here, but this is real. _This is the past. Worlds have risen and fallen in this area. Tell me, TommyInnit, do you want to be alone? Do you want to ignore all of this?_

The same words start appearing on the walls. You need to show someone, _anyone_ , of this. You open your camera app, and you take a picture. The picture stays the same. You take another. The picture also stays the same.

This is real. 

Frantically, you open Discord on your phone, thanking the stars above that you’ve actually brought it along with you, and you send off the address that Traveller has told you, the one that is the reason why you are standing here. You take a picture of a part of the inscriptions. You continue taking pictures of everything, and notify everyone, and you ignore their messages because-

Your finger lands on the circle. A picture is taken. The words stand out, etched in gold and blood in equal measures. You swallow nervously.

(Where is the line between reality and fantasy? Does it even exist?

Is your roleplay... _real_?)

_Don’t you want to be a hero, Tommy?_

**Author's Note:**

> hope ur having a great day! disclaimer that none of this is real, and this is only fiction.
> 
> yes that last line is different on purpose btw


End file.
